


Remedied

by LadyGlinda



Series: Mycroft Takes Revenge [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Avenger Mycroft, BAMF Mycroft Holmes, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Mycroft Holmes, Dead John, Fix-It of Sorts, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Protective Mycroft, Revenge, Serious Injuries, Sherlock is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 17:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: After John's attack and Smith's attempt at killing him, Sherlock wakes up in hospital. He is not alone.





	Remedied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [falc0nwing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falc0nwing/gifts), [Snoozydog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snoozydog/gifts), [Elsa9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsa9/gifts), [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts).

> Just a drabble I thought of this morning. Seems I'm not by far through with John's violent attack against Sherlock. Gifted to some people who might appreciate this kind of story :) This is not an incest fic but I think it does have a certain undertone.
> 
> This fic inspired my lovely friend SlytherinsDragon to write a delicious story for the missing pieces :) Check it out!

“Ah, good to see you awake, little brother.”

Sherlock's eyelids are fluttering and he quickly closes his eyes when the light hits them. It’s morning. About nine. He has slept all night. “Smith...” His voice sounds strange. Sore. Sick. Weak.

“Arrested. Doesn’t say a word. Probably he will be released soon on parole.”

Sherlock snorts. “You’re kidding me,” he croaks. “He tried to kill me. He killed so many people...” Then his eyes open in shock. “John!” Has his plan worked? Has John saved him? Are they friends again? But he is not here...

Mycroft, sitting on a chair next to his bed, sighs. “You must keep still, Sherlock. You have two broken ribs and three more are almost cracked, along with your sternum. You have a concussion and your body is covered with bruises. All thanks to the faithful doctor.” His voice is heavy with suppressed anger.

Sherlock swallows. “What did you do to him?”

Gracefully, his brother gets up from his chair. “Sleep, Sherlock.”

“Mycroft…” He has done all this to provoke John to save him, just as Mary has ordered him to do. It has been close, yes. But he was saved. By whom? The memory comes back in a flash. A tall man he had never seen before had taken Smith out, catching him while trying to suffocate him. An agent. One of Mycroft's men. “God… Rosie...”

“...is safe with Miss Hooper,” Mycroft says suavely.

Sherlock's eyes tear up. “How could you...” He winces when Mycroft darts forward, his face very close to his own.

“How could _I_? How could _he_?!” He retreats and shakes his head. He looks awfully tired, Sherlock realises. “He injured you severely and then he left you to die at Smith’s hands. And don’t dare tell me you deserved that.”

“I… I did.”

“No, Sherlock, you did _not_. I was there. She jumped in front of the bullet.”

“The bullet that wouldn’t have flown if I had not been so thick.”

“Be that as it may. It was _her_ choice. And it was John’s choice to punish you for it and to leave you at the hands of a psychopath.”

“It was my plan! I had to save him by making him save me...” It sounds stupid when he says that.

Mycroft smiles and it’s both sad and cruel. “He didn’t need to be saved. My saint of a little brother, thinking he has to die for the Watsons, to _kill _for the bloody Watsons.” He spits out the last words and his expression is scary. His usually so unmoved face is a mask of wrath and his eyes are tight slits of blue ice. He takes a deep breath and straightens up. “Sleep now, Sherlock. Get some rest.”

Sherlock’s heart is heavy with grief. And something he can’t quite name. “And when I wake up, I’ll be all alone.” He sounds pathetic to his own ears.

“You will never be alone,” Mycroft answers pointedly. “Greg Lestrade will be there.”

Who had probably told Mycroft about John’s violence and sanctions what happened to his friend. He clearly chose Sherlock's side...

“Miss Hooper will be there.”

Will she? She had sidelined with John after Mary’s death… And now she has Rosie to look after. He can’t find it in himself to care.

“Mrs Hudson will be there.”

And how will she react to John having been killed? But if she gets told about his violence… Sherlock doesn’t doubt she will be shocked.

“And _I _will be there.”

Sherlock bites his lip. “And Smith, to take revenge.” How can they let him out?

But then he hears his brother chuckle and he looks up and meets his amused glance and he knows that Smith’s life has only gotten a short prolongation by him being arrested. He will never get near him again. His brother has taken care of John. Permanently. And he will do the same with Smith. Personally? Probably not. But John? Certainly.

He is wearing gloves, Sherlock realises. To hide his knuckles?

Mycroft catches his glance. “Please. There are other ways that are not quite that messy but very rewarding.” He does look at his hands when he says that, quite appreciatively.

Strangled him then, obviously. With his bare hands. Watched the life leave his eyes. John had always underestimated Mycroft. Well, probably not anymore in his last seconds.

It still feels unreal.

John is gone.

He should hate Mycroft for it. But there is no hate in him besides the one for Smith. He will certainly not blame Mycroft for killing _him_.

Mycroft steps back to his bed and he reaches out with his right hand, and the glove-covered fingers gently stroke over his shoulder. “I told you before: I’ll always be there for you. I always was even though I know you didn’t really crave it. But if you think I’d let anyone hurt or try to kill my little brother… I made this mistake once, thanks to your impossible forgiveness. Not again.”

He means Mary. But if he hadn’t let her get away with shooting him, Sherlock would have died at the bullet Vivian Norbury fired at him. Quite the irony. But of course - if Mary had died after attacking him, Norbury might have never been exposed. It is futile to think about the 'what-if's'...

They look at one another, and Sherlock feels sore and hurting in so much more than the physical way. In his mind’s eye he sees John smile at him, admiring him, like he had done for years. And then he sees the fury and, yes, hatred, in John’s face when he had kicked away at him. He wants to cry, to scream, to die. Then he shudders when a warm hand touches his face. No glove there anymore.

“I will come back later,” Mycroft says quietly.

“Don’t underestimate Smith,” Sherlock says to his own surprise. And then he recalls the walking cane. He has totally forgotten about it. He glances at it. Smith's confession. Well, probably it wouldn't be accepted as evidence anyway. It was just a means to make Smith think he lost once he would be talking to John. He won't tell anyone.

Mycroft gives him a long look, then he shakes his head. “I never underestimate lunatics. Don’t worry.” He nods and turns, ready to leave.

“Can you...” Sherlock shuts up again.

Mycroft turns back to him and scrutinises him. “...stay a bit longer?” he asks softly, and Sherlock just nods.

“Of course I can.” He sits back in the chair. “Sleep now, little brother. And if I’m not here when you wake up, be assured I will be informed and come back. And when you are ready to leave the hospital, I will make sure you’ll be brought to Baker Street.”

“No! I… I can’t go there… not so soon.” It is silly in a way as John had not lived there for quite a while now. But Sherlock had hoped that he would come back. Not going to happen anymore.

Mycroft nods at once. “I understand. To my house then?”

Sherlock nods after a few seconds. “If…”

“Please, Sherlock. Of course it’s fine.”

Nothing is fine of course. His best friend is dead after _[kicking and beating their friendship to death]_ punishing him. His god-daughter has lost both her parents now. She has Molly though.

And he knows he won’t be alone. And he can still feel Mycroft's fingers on his cheek when he finally drifts back to sleep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Catharsis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21015038) by [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/pseuds/SlytherinsDragon)


End file.
